The Murderer's Dance
by Moonshine 369
Summary: The truth was that, no matter the background, no matter the reasoning, no matter the motive, they both were, and always would be, murderers. If you can’t beat them, join them. If you can’t join them, kill them. BxLight, mentioned LightxL, hints of BxL.


**So. BBxLight. Where the _hell_ did this come from? Well, let's just say it involved a random pairing generator of sorts, and lots and lots of boredom. Oh, and a missing muse. This was actually supposed to just be a "drabblefic," so that's what it is. A drabble. It's just a very very long, slightly more planned-out drabble. It's supposed to be a romance, so I'm trying to squoosh some romance into there. The result... well, you can be the judge of that.**

**This story is going to be divided into three or four chapters, but I won't know for sure until I get them written. Also, if you're looking for a perfectly in character Light, or an in character B, you're probably in the wrong place, I'm sorry to say.**

**I'm sorry if it seems like this chapter is rushed, because it kind of was. There's not a whole lot of ****dialogue in it, which kind of makes everything seem kind of choppy, and it's not as smooth a ride as I'd like, not to metion that I didn't do a very good job at describing Light's motives, the setting, Light's methods, or any of that good stuff. My apologies. ); This fiction is actually more than anything for personal purposes. Like I said, my muse has long since abandoned me and lately I've been doing random prompts and drabbles to try to real the litte bugger back in.**

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**Pairings: BBxLight, scarce BBxL, and hints of coarse LightxL. (More in future chapters.)  
Warnings: T for blood, and maybe... intent in future chapters.  
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, which is a good thing because, as you can tell from this fic, if I did I'd probably mutilate the plotline. ;_;**

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**The Murderer's Dance**

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People were so easily manipulated.

All Light could do was marvel in their stupidity. Or was that too cruel? Not that he minded anymore. Not really.

"Here we are," the attendant said, jamming his keys into the door right in front of Light, and twisting, clicking the lock open. "Inmate 913."

"Thank you, sir. I'll handle myself." Light ducked into a quick bow, which the American attendant didn't return.

Now it would just be him and the murderer—alone, without supervision. For "reasons of confidentiality," Light had made sure that there were no bugs or guards anywhere near to pick up on the conversation. This was the Kira case, after all. Just that fact made everything so much easier; the fearful strived not to get involved. The less information you knew on about Kira the less your life needed to be taken in his eyes. Or so people liked to think.

"There's a panic button on the wall. If the inmate does anything questionable, don't hesitate to hit it."

Light raised his clipboard to his face, flipping a page over aimlessly. "Of course." He wouldn't need a panic button. He had already prepared a panic button of his own.

"And… Sir?"

Light looked up from his pointless graphs.

"Do you _really_ think that he could be connected to Kira?"

Light sighed for effect. "Nowadays, you can never be too careful. We know so little on him that it's unsafe to rule anyone out. Hell, from what we know, this man could be Kira himself." Lies, of course.

The attendant sighed as if trying to make conversation. Was he waiting for Light to say something?

"If you'll excuse me," Light said impatiently.

"Of course." The attendant pulled open the door, and then handed Light a key off of the hook. "It goes to—"

"I know." Did the attendant think he was stupid?

The attendant nodded to Light as if he was marching to his inevitable death. With a heaved sigh, he closed the barred door behind Light, locking him into a small chamber between the hallway and the cell. Light then crammed the key into the lock on the second door, and twisted. For a reason he wasn't sure of, the loud _clink_ that the unlocking made sent a shiver down his spine.

The room was certainly modest, Light noted as he pulled the heavy door closed behind him. The living quarters didn't seem to be enough to accommodate a newborn baby, let alone a grown man. The room was only a few yards across, and a few yards in depth, not leaving much breathing room, especially with the cot and toilet crammed into the corner.

Instantly, Light knew he had the right man.

For a moment, he thought he was looking right at L. From the structure to the pale skin to the disheveled black hair and rings under his eyes, he looked exactly like the sleuth.

But that was impossible, of course. L was long since dead.

Light's eyes traced over the frame of the man's body until they settled on his eyes. With a lustrous blood-red glow, it was impossible not to realize that he had the Eyes. Said ruby eyes were fixed, unflinching, on the wall in front of where the murderer sat on the small, springy cot—in the same knees-to-chest position that L was so fond of.

"Incredible," Light heard himself whisper. For a second, he expected the man to flinch, but he remained in his stance. Slowly but surely, he raised his bony finger to the wall, and began tracing the outline of the bricks.

"Seven hundred twenty-nine and a half," he hummed. "Twenty-nine, twenty-nine. Bricks everywhere. But that half; that won't do. My knife—pesky little guards stole my knife."

Light, only slightly perturbed by the prisoner's chants—after all, he'd heard _horror _stories about the man's strangeness—in a swift motion, dumped all of the books he held in his arms, including his black Death Note, onto the ground, causing a loud _crash_ to sound.

Beyond Birthday didn't look up from his bricks. "Soon, I'll have my knife again. And I'll _cut_ you out, you stupid half. Pesky guards. Pesky half."

It was useless. BB's mind was completely occupied by the bricks on the wall. What a sad man—he had absolutely nothing to do with himself.

An introduction would be pointless, Light could plainly see.

"I brought you something, B," he said loudly, as if speaking to a child.

"Then there will be no more half. And soon, there will be no more bricks at all. And then, there will be no more Beyond. No more blinking. Just eyes. _Oohweeheehee_. Master that laugh. _Oohwoohoohoo_."

Light drew the long, glistening knife from his coat—Lord, had it been a hassle to smuggle it in—and plunged it hard into BB's cot. The razor sharp blade sliced through fabric and cushion with ease.

Beyond finally took his eyes away from the wall.

Slowly, almost as if just to do so caused him pain, the brutal torturer reached for the knife. One by one, his bony, translucent fingers curled around the handle, pulling his tight skin even tighter, and with an effort, he managed to yank the knife from its cushiony prison.

With careful, glowing eyes, he studied the knife, running his fingers along the smooth blade. Satisfied with the results, he slid the knife into his dark prisoner's sleeve, turned the blade upward, and sliced the sleeve open.

"Excellent blade."

Light cocked his head. It was as if he was speaking to someone. Could this man have a Shinigami with him? No, no, no—just the eyes. It was true as he saw it, then. This man was clinically insane—and talking to no one but himself.

He didn't seem to be worried about the bricks anymore. Now, he focused on shortening his sleeve before doing anything else. The knife against the coarse, metallic fabric made a nails-on-a-chalkboard whine as Light watched.

"Thank you for the knife. Now I will not be so lonely when you depart—as all the many others have before you."

Suddenly Light felt very stupid—he'd just given the killer his murder weapon of choice.

No matter, though—Light picked up the Death Note from the ground, and flipped to the last page. On the worn paper was scrawled, "Beyond Birthda-." Just one "y," and he was safe. Although he honestly hoped writing said letter wouldn't be necessary._ This_ was his panic button.

And this B… he looked so much like Light's L.

It'd be too much of a waste to do away with him without putting an effort into keeping him alive and stable.

He tossed his one weapon—the Death Note—back onto the ground.

After all he'd heard about this man, Light couldn't even _himself_ understand why he was so intrigued by this particular murderer, when in most cases, he would write down the name without any hint of remorse. But this man now, who had such a past with L, knew about where they grew up together, about whoever raised them, and surely, could help Light get to L's heirs. Even besides that, the fact that he had the eyes and was naïve to the concept of a Death Note would be of utmost help.

And he looked _so much_ like L.

Now all that was left was to convince BB to become his ally.

Light had poured over the files all the previous night in anticipation of this, consuming any and every detail about the man—but said details were extremely sparse. Light knew why, too—facts about BB's past were only one step away from facts about L's past. But from what he could tell from the murder methods and motive—well, this man wasn't going to be hard to befriend. Not when they had something in common—concerning a certain insomniac detective who had a knack for foiling plans.

The truth was that, no matter the background, no matter the reasoning, no matter the motive, it all boiled down to this: They were both murderers. And there was no escaping that fact.

"I'm not going to leave you, though," Light testified.

It was an honest enough statement. Light would either be leaving with BB in tow—or he would be leaving, having written his name down. Either way, BB wouldn't be lonely for much longer.

For the first time since he'd received it, BB tore his eyes from the glistening blade.

"Just because B's life got ruined doesn't mean that he's stupid. Doesn't mean that he'll let himself be lied to. Stop _lying_ to B."

He had moved from the sleeves of his suit—which were now considerably shorter than they once had been, the dark fabric that had once been attached flaking the floor—to the cuffs of his pants, and was slicing those up happily as well. His feet were bare—once again, Light's mind was overwhelmed with thoughts of L. They were so similar: L and what might as well have been his exact clone.

"I'm not lying to you, Beyond." Light ventured a step closer, and reached out his hand, strong and sturdy in comparison to BB's frail one. After a brief moment of hesitance, he wrapped his hand around B's hand, which had a sturdy grip on the knife, and tried to pull the blade from his grip. B's flinch sent the knife wobbling, but he didn't release his hold.

After a second of this, Light again jerked the knife towards himself, trying to free it from B's icy grip.

The knife became a blur in Light's vision, a silver glare in his eyes as Beyond yanked it free from his grip and sliced it through the air.

Light felt the blood trickling from the newborn cut on his forehead before the sharp sting of pain sent his nerves screaming.

Beyond's eyes stayed fixed on the blade, now glistening with Light's blood, for only another brief moment before dropping it, and letting it clatter to the floor.

Light groped for his Death Note, panic attacking his nerves. N-never too safe.

BB had found something more captivating, however, than the knife, or Light's movements. He was staring at Light's blood that stained his fingertips.

Kira watched in horror as the murderer took his thumb, coated in dark blood, in his mouth, and began caressing it with his tongue.

"_Ugh_." Light's groan was barely audible, and he shuddered as if witnessing a torture. He felt helpless down on the ground, this serial killer towering over him. Although he had more than suitable time to re-mount to a stance, he remained on the ground, immobilized with anxiety.

This visit was not quite going as planned.

_Light_ was supposed to be in control. What had gone wrong?

A familiar, relieving chuckle echoed from his chest. Though awkward in this context, the small chuckle calmed Light's nerves, and brought him out of his imagination and back into reality. _He'd brought a knife in for an insane serial killer,_ that_ was where he'd gone wrong._

No matter. Light wiped his forehead on the sleeve of his coat, his own dark blood staining the corduroy.

While B was still occupied by his bloody hand, Light mounted onto his knees and slid his own hand over to the forgotten knife.

In a flash, there was another, bonier, paler hand slapped over the knife, and slid it along the ground out of Light's grip, and towards its own.

Those blood red eyes… they now widened in sick glee as B brought the knife to his face.

"Silly man," he said, his voice thick with twisted pleasure. "Don't you know?"

B slid the blade into his mouth and clenched it with his teeth so he could hold it while his hands were occupied. He crouched onto the floor and put his hands out, on all fours like the untamed, sadistically grinning hyena he was.

Light inched backwards as, B, contradictory to his motions, crawled forward, shortening and shortening the distance between them until Light was backed into the wall, his eyes widened with fear and anticipation.

Satisfied with Light's position, B drew the knife out of his mouth. Slick with saliva and blood, it made a sharp, sucking noise, like a sword being drawn from its sheathe as he removed it from his teeth.

B pushed his face up to Light's until there were only mere centimeters between them. Light could feel B's heavy, hot breath on his skin. He raised the knife so that it fell right between Light's eyes, and let it linger there for a moment, as if to reaffirm the fact that the knife was in fact in his possession. Then he slowly moved it higher, and pressed the tip of the blade delicately to Light's face, right between his knitted eyebrows.

"…Don't you know that Beyond always ends up on top?"

Light shut his eyes tight as he prepared himself for the demented murderer to plunge the knife through his skull.

What a horrible way for his reign as Kira to be drawn to a close.

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**I am kind of sick... (;  
Uhm. The ending went by like, THAT. ;snaps;  
It was really rushed, and I'm sorry for that. I will look at re-writing it later.**

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End file.
